Hearts Led Astray
by strawberriez8800
Summary: Thomas/Jimmy - We'll come to our senses, someday.


_Note: Post 4x03, diverts into AU from there :)_

* * *

There were moments when Jimmy wondered if he was too fastidious in regards to selecting good company. For as long as his memory served, there had not been a time in which he was granted an irreplaceable companionship, like those in tales – where two people trusted each other enough to discuss their deepest fears, or felt safe enough to divulge their secrets in whispers as they lay hidden from the rest of the world. Despite the obstacles and complications that had plagued their friendship, in the end there was nothing – ultimately – that could severe the ties of their bonds.

Jimmy remembered having felt _envious _of the closeness that was bestowed upon such relationships, before he'd cringed at the pitiful quality of his resentment. They were _fictional characters _in mere stories_, _where the introduction of a _conflict _was always followed by a destined – and sometimes predictable – _resolution_. Sure, there were hardships and unfortunate events crammed in between those parameters, but Jimmy could only regard them as _foreplay – _for the lack of a more fitting description – before the inevitable happy-ever-after.

Real life, on the other hand, was not often gracious enough to wrap things up in a neat little bow. Such were the cold facts of human existence. Then again, reality was solid and infallible and _true – _as opposed to the wistful fantasies of a storyteller – in which man's five senses elevated the acuity of every emotion across the spectrum; words were a little harsher; betrayal cut a little deeper; love burned a little brighter. Still, Jimmy could not claim to have first-hand experience on many of those sentiments – _love, _in particular. The concept of such a profound emotion held little significance to Jimmy Kent, as though he was an indifferent audience to some kind of maudlin picture; he could see what love was – but he could not _feel_. After years of such observation, he had arrived at the conclusion that, perhaps, love was not meant for him.

Surprisingly, such a notion did not trouble Jimmy in the least. He had never given voice to this thought, but he had always been plagued with the awareness that love was more of a hindrance than anything else. He had witnessed what it was capable of spurring; he had been _subjected _to the whimsicality that love had so often brought on – or perhaps it was mere infatuation, or even lust. The boundaries that marked those lands distorted quite considerably.

And so, he had spent the majority of his life hovering just beyond the reach of a deeper connection with a significant other, always dodging the possibilities of something _more_. There were empty smiles and meaningless chit-chats, half-hearted gestures of good will and void condolences. Luck had constantly been on Jimmy's side, because he found that he was _good _at such charades, fooling the world into categorizing Jimmy Kent as just another pretty face with a snarky mouth – until Thomas Barrow came along and tipped his world on its axis.

-x-

"Bit lonely to be out here by yourself."

Jimmy didn't look up at the voice. He ran his fingers across the bandage on his wrist, the touch lighter the breeze that graced the yard at this time of dusk. He watched the warm light play across the rough texture of the gauze, rotating his hand to peer at the loose strings around the seams. "What can I say? Solitude does have its perks from time to time." He lifted his gaze to Thomas, eyes following the movement of his leather-bound hand as it pulled out a lighter from his pocket.

Thomas darted a glance at him and shrugged. "Suppose you have a point." He put a fag to his lips and held the lighter to its tip, orange-blue flame quivering in the draft. The line of his shoulders – clad in the piano-black of his under-butler livery – was free of the formal stance that it possessed in daytime. "I used to enjoy it. Not as much now."

Jimmy raised his eyebrows – slightly – as he watched the smoke billow from Thomas's parted mouth. Grey mist dissipated into the night air – going, going, gone. His own cigarette hung limp in his fingers. "Why not?"

Thomas looked away. A curious sense of disappointment flared at the sudden obstruction of the man's expression – whatever it may be as he said: "Perhaps I've been spoiled by your company. You never know these days." The affection in his voice was so subtle that Jimmy might've missed it if it weren't for his rapt attention. To anybody else, it would've sounded flippant and sarcastic – typical Thomas Barrow style. "What can I say? Having a friend does have its perks from time to time." Thomas smiled a tiny, lopsided smile.

Jimmy blinked in surprise, before a grin slipped into place. It was so unusual for the man to grant anybody a pleasant expression, let alone a _smile _– that sometimes Jimmy couldn't help but feel almost _privileged _to hold audience to such an infrequent occurrence. He held up his injury and gestured to Thomas's gloved hand. "Especially when we make such a pair." He cast him a wink – a simple platonic gesture, of course – but it still sent a mild flush to Thomas's cheeks. Jimmy bit his lip, feeling a little guilty all of a sudden. In the months that had gone by, with the both of them such amiable companions – it was easy to forget the lingering sentiments. A question suddenly nagged at him: why – and how – did Thomas still harbour such strong feelings for Jimmy, even after all this time? It seemed silly to pine after somebody when it was clearly going nowhere.

Or – was it?

Jimmy dreaded the answer.

Thomas took a deep puff, the tip of his cigarette glowing bright orange. "How's your wrist – still sore?"

"A lot better, actually. Thanks again for – um –" He waved his forearm with a sheepish smile. He swallowed, terribly aware of his climbing heart rate, wondering idly if Thomas's pulse was quickening as well, beneath his smooth exterior.

A strange expression passed over Thomas's features – like the shadow of a bird as it flew overhead in a sunny day – and it was gone. Thomas reached out to touch Jimmy's wrist, but he pulled back as if scalded. "Sorry."

Jimmy drew closer to Thomas until their shoulders were barely an inch apart – and held out his arm out. "You tended to it, Mr Barrow." What was he_doing_? "It's your responsibility to make sure it's healing right."

Thomas's mouth curled into a wry smile. "It's a sprained wrist, not a broken bone." Nonetheless, his fingers ghosted across the plane of Jimmy's wrist, skirting above the knob of bone as Thomas gently prodded the tender wound. Goosebumps rose on Jimmy's arm at the feather-light sensation. His hand quivered a little, and he clenched it in a loose fist, hoping the other man would not notice the tremor. They were barely touching, yet it felt so impossibly, obscenely _intimate – _"The swelling's gone down some." His voice was soft, almost a whisper – as he raised his eyes to meet Jimmy's gaze – and Jimmy felt his breath _catch _in his throat. Thomas's pale eyes were consumed by opaque circles of black; Jimmy could _see _the desire swirling within the dark, bottomless expanse –

He suddenly realized his breathing had become quick and shallow, his heart pounding in his chest as though trying to break free. Thomas's hand was still on his wrist, the touch tantalizing and verging on _electrifying_ –

Jimmy couldn't move. He couldn't even bloody _breathe. _"I –" His mouth snapped shut at the hoarseness of his voice. Thomas withdrew his hand immediately. Jimmy cleared his throat – a bit _too _loudly – but he couldn't care less at this point. He just had to get _out _of here. "I think I'll be heading back now." He crushed the cigarette beneath his shoe, ashes smearing against the pavement. A sudden gust belted through the vicinity, stirring up the street dust and yellowed leaves. He shivered at the onslaught of wind, pulling his jacket tight around him. "Goodnight, Mr Barrow."

There was no reply when Jimmy's feet propelled him towards the entrance. He ached to glance back over his shoulder – just for one last look before the end of the day – but he stopped short; if he looked back, he would be forever lost.

He made back to his bedroom in one piece, aside from the way his heart was beating in his throat, each pulse thick and heavy. Despite the chill, beads of sweat rolled down his temples in slow trails, creeping down his neck and peeking below his collar. He swiped a forearm across his brow and began stripping. Pieces of clothing came off one after another, strewn in a messy pile on the floor until Jimmy stood in the middle of his room in nothing but his underclothes. He realized, with a jolt, that he was half-hard.

_Oh, God._

With the last of his rationality flung out of the window, Jimmy ravaged through his drawer, fingers clawing past folded garbs until they closed around a small tub of petrol jelly buried under a pile of shirts. He fumbled with the container – almost dropping it in his urgency – and unscrewed the lid with a shaking hand. Back against the plastered wall, he yanked down his cotton shorts and swiped his fingers through the jelly, the substance smooth and cool on his fingertips. Curling a hand around his jutting cock, his fingers ran along the length of his shaft, coating every inch of the surface with lubricant.

A sigh escaped his mouth at the sensation. "Oh, yes…" Eyes squeezed shut, Jimmy tightened his hold and – "Fuck." A bolt of pain shot up his arm at the sudden pressure on his wrist. He gasped and rolled his head back, skull banging against the unyielding wall. His teeth clamped down on his lip as he stroked himself with his injured hand, the pain in his wrist throbbing along with his cock as his heart beat to thoughts led astray. There was a sick sort of pleasure to be derived from it, the fact that he was hurting himself by fucking into a hand that had been tended to by _Thomas_. Jimmy's lips pulled back in a grin – more of a snarl, really – as the image of Thomas flashed behind closed lids.

"God, ah – shit – " He brought his other hand to his mouth and bit down on his knuckle to stifle his moans. He played with the slit on the tip of his cock, fingertips trailing around the foreskin and dipping beneath the thin fold – stroking back and forth, back and forth. Each pump of his heart pounded through his skull, sending flashes of pleasure with every rush of blood. Another wave of pain cascaded through him and he pumped faster, chest falling and rising so fast that Jimmy thought it might render him unconscious. The metallic tang of blood spread on his tongue – he reveled in the taste, grasping at the distraction from the agony in his wrist and the severe _need _to come. He resisted, though; if he was going to masturbate to forbidden thoughts, might as well make it count.

In his mind's eye, Thomas was kneeling in front of him. Then his mouth was on Jimmy's pulsing erection, tongue sliding along the tip of his cock – _God_it was so good, so _fucking_ good. Jimmy thrust into the column of Thomas's throat in one eager stroke. The muscles of his windpipe wrapped around his cock, squeezing and throbbing. Jimmy's back arched off the wall as he gulped down mouthfuls of air – his fingers worked and pushed, the pain in his wrist now nothing but a discomfort. A long, slow moan slithered past Jimmy's lips – he didn't make the effort to hold back this time. _Fuck_subtlety; he was in his goddamned room and he was allowed to do whatever he goddamned pleased –

He came into his palm in one blinding moment, eyelids fluttering as his erection ached with release. His eyes rolled back into his head as he slid down the wall, dropping to the floor in a heavy thump. Jimmy withdrew his sore hand, blinking away the tears that had been stimulated by the pain. He forced himself to breathe through his nose, waiting for his heart rate to slow down. A few minutes ticked by as Jimmy lay spent, about to doze off when he snapped wide awake.

_I have to clean this up. Leave not one trace of it._

So he did. He wiped up the mess with a cloth and rinsed it in the wash basin. He screwed the lid back onto the jelly container, cleaned the traces of substance around the tub and tucked it back into his drawer. He changed into a fresh pair of shorts and tossed the stained one into the laundry basket. He walked to his bed and threw himself on the mattress.

Then he closed his eyes – and waited for everything to turn back to normal.

-x-

In the following morning, Jimmy was stunned awake by a sharp twinge in his wrist. His eyes flew open, greeted by the blank wall that met the edge of his bed. He pulled himself up into a sitting position and glanced at the clock – six minutes before he was supposed to awaken. Half-dazed with lethargy, he fell back onto the mattress, sighing up at the ceiling.

Then he remembered.

He ripped the coverlet off and staggered towards his wash basin. The sight of the filthy cloth dangling on the edge spurred a rush of bile up the column of his throat, but he swallowed it back down with a taut grimace. He would _not – _must _not – _be weak. He splashed some water on his face, indulging in the sheer coldness that jarred him from head to toe. His throbbing hand lay limp by his side as he dressed up for the day, gingerly avoiding any strain on his worsened injury. His throat tightened when he noticed the awful state of the bindings.

_Should get it changed – but not_ _by _him_, definitely._

Breakfast was in full throttle by the time Jimmy went down. Everybody was seated at the dining table, chatting quietly amongst themselves. Jimmy slipped into a chair as quietly as he could, hoping to avoid notice –

"Jimmy, how's your hand? Is it still hurting?"

He clenched his teeth. Letting out a slow breath, he turned to Ivy with a strained smile. "S'alright. Nothing I can't handle." He gulped at the stares he was receiving from a few onlookers, trying to ignore them as he took a sip of tea. In the corner of his mind, he could almost feel Thomas's gaze on him. Jimmy couldn't resist stealing a glance at the man. Thomas was looking at him with a slight frown. His eyes lowered to Jimmy's wrist – and for some reason, Jimmy was compelled to hide it from his view. It felt _wrong_somehow – to have his injury on full display for the man, given what Jimmy had _done _with it hours before –

Ivy leaned closer to him. "Would you like me to change your bandages later? Or would you want Mr Barrow to do it again?"

Jimmy wanted to yell at her to shut _up _– but the tone of her voice betrayed no insinuation; it was out of mere curiosity on Ivy's part. He was caught between wanting to laugh at her blatant obliviousness or to appreciate the fact that she was as ignorant as ever. He did neither. Instead, he nodded at her with a smile. "I'd prefer you do it. Thank you, Ivy." He tried to sound grateful. It seemed to have worked like a charm, because the girl was blushing like he had just whispered naughty things in her ear. He fought the urge to roll his eyes.

The meal was briefly interrupted when Carson strode into the servants' hall. Wooden chair legs scrapped against the floorboards as everybody stood in greeting. Carson gestured for them to sit, before he said in his characteristic booming voice: "As we all know, at the end of this month Downton shall be housing Lord and Lady Wellington, who wish to stop by along with their associates during their visit to York. Lady Rose has suggested hosting a masquerade ball to welcome their arrival – and being the free-spirited soul that she is –" Would he ever _get _to the point? "– she is kind enough to have extended the invitation to the staff." The hall was suddenly noisy with excited chatter. "May I ask that contain your enthusiasm until _after _my announcement." The buzz died down, and Carson cleared his throat. "Now, while such an event is highly unusual_, _it does not excuse any_unconventional _behavior during the evening…"

The conflict in his words proved too much for Jimmy; how did that old codger expect things to remain 'conventional' in an 'unusual' party such as this? Carson's voice faded into a drone as Jimmy's mind wandered off. The idea of a masquerade ball sounded quite appealing, yet for the moment Jimmy could not muster up the same gusto as most of his colleagues. His eyes darted towards Thomas once again, only to see the man staring at his plate with a flat expression.

"Are you going to dance with Ivy?"

He blinked and turned to Alfred, who was regarding him with a look of disdain. Jimmy was wrought with confusion for a brief moment, before he realized – "Of course." He sneered. "What, did you think _you _would get the chance to? Not while I'm here." He chuckled at the twist in Alfred's mouth. "Come on, there are plenty of fish in the sea." Indeed, but Downton Abbey was a fish bowl in comparison – and Jimmy wasn't about to point _that _out. "Take Daisy, for instance. The poor girl needs some attention."

Jimmy got through the morning with minimal work. Part of him wanted to bask in the rare chance to laze around, but another part of him was worried that his godforsaken injury would cost him his job – or at least his rank as first footman. Molesley made a fine footman, but the man had appeared to be disgruntled at having to temporary take over Jimmy's place – much to Jimmy's bewilderment; most people would agree that a position as a footman at a grand manor would trump a back-breaking job at the village any day.

It was not until later that afternoon when Ivy approached him in the boot room, a first-aid kit in her hand. Jimmy looked up from the shoe he was shining, conjuring a pleasant smile into place. "Hey you." He set the boot aside as Ivy took a seat in front of him. Jimmy was uncomfortably reminded of the night in which Thomas had nursed his wound. They had been alone in the servants' hall, sharing their usual late-evening smoke as they traded news for the day. A pause had hung over them like a thick blanket – then Jimmy had blurted out the request for Thomas to look at his wrist. He remembered the look on Thomas's face that evening; it had been one of surprise, so pure and unguarded – even if it only had been an instant – that it was forever ingrained in Jimmy's mind, as though it was something he was_meant _to see all his life, and never got to until that specific moment. It was such an inane notion, yet at that time it had also seemed so undoubtedly_true_.

Ivy smiled up at him, cheeks pink with – whatever – as she opened the box. Jimmy shifted a little as she scooted closer, trying not to cringe away as she set a hand on his wrist. "You sure you can do this?" He was suddenly unsure about her ability; what did a kitchen maid know about bandaging injuries anyway? It wasn't as though she had medical experience, like Thomas –

"What are you on about? 'Course I can." She began to undo the bindings. Jimmy winced at the jolt of discomfort. It appeared that his condition had regressed all the way back to day one. He wanted to punch something for being so bloody stupid – but that would not help the situation. "It's not that hard. Me mother taught me before I applied for work. Thought it might come in handy."

"Right." Jimmy stared at the movement of her hands as they worked with the straps. He eyed the pile of used bandages, unable to keep from blushing at the thought of what they had gone through. His ears burned as he glanced away, biting his lip. He raised his eyes to Ivy when he realized she had paused half-way, gaze widening when it occurred to him that Ivy was likely to think that he was blushing because of _her_. "Well, on with it." It was difficult to keep the edge from his voice. Jimmy wondered just how in God's name he had gotten himself into this travesty.

When Ivy fastened the last pin into place, Jimmy could not help but sigh in relief. It had taken an unusually long time for her to change the bandages. He knew why, of course – but it still grated on him. Jimmy stood from his chair and smiled. "Thanks for that." He flexed his fingers, surprised at the quality of Ivy's handiwork. She put the items back into the kit and remained still as she gazed at him. Jimmy glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "Yes?" He wasn't sure what else she was expecting – did she want a kiss of appreciation or something?

_Careful – she might actually want that._

Jimmy's mouth fell open before he clamped it shut again. He peered at the expression on her face – it was so full of hope and yearning that he wanted nothing but to escape from the force of it all. Then again, what was a little kiss compared to the earlier transgressions in his bedroom? With that in mind, he stepped closer and brought his undamaged hand to her cheek. It burned under his touch. He gulped and tried to smile – but it felt like he was straining his lips too much, so he stopped and just went for it. Her lips felt oddly pleasant upon his, soft and plump – and that was it. There were no butterflies in his stomach, no racing heartbeat, no anxiety so acute that he thought he might get sick from it. It was just – nice.

"For God's sake Jimmy, what's taking you so long –"

Jimmy sprang away at once, wiping a hand across his lips. He turned to the doorway and met Thomas's eyes.

Thomas blinked once, twice – then he smirked. "I see now." His gaze darted from him to Ivy, then back to him. "Well, James – when you're done frolicking with kitchen maids, do ensure you finish polishing the silver before dinner." He shot a look at Ivy before heading along the corridor.

_Bloody hell –_

Jimmy whirled on Ivy. "If you breathe a damn _word _about this – " He halted at the terror on her face.

_What are you looking so scared for? This is all _your_ fault._

Clenching his teeth, he tossed her a last glare before bounding down the hallway after the under-butler. "Mr Barrow, wait – I said wait a bloody second!" He gripped Thomas on the forearm with a desperation that verged on humiliating – but it didn't matter. The thought of Thomas misunderstanding the situation twisted in his gut like a razor. He _had_ to clear things up, or else –

Or else what?

Jimmy didn't pause to wonder.

Thomas's steps came to an abrupt stop. "What is it, now?" His voice was so still, so _indifferent_ that it struck Jimmy like a physical slap.

"It's not what you think it is, I promise." It was a weak argument, but it was all he had.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, James." The sound of Jimmy's formal name – especially coming from Thomas's mouth – grated like sandpaper. "It's Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson you have to answer to if they ever get wind of this." Pale blue eyes followed down to Jimmy's hold on his arm, before they trailed back up in a stone cold stare.

Jimmy's hand dropped to his side. "Are you…are you going to tell them?" He hated how small his voice sounded to his own ears.

Thomas sighed, as though he was so _tired_ – and Jimmy was suddenly overwhelmed with the compulsion to pull him into his arms – "No, I could never…" The ice in his eyes thawed a little. "I best get back to work. You should too."

They lingered in the corridor that was silent except for the distant buzz of activity. Thomas started to walk away, but he cast Jimmy one last look that was tinged with disappointment and concern, but mostly concern, and perhaps it was precisely that – that made it all the more unbearable.

-x-

Jimmy Kent was not one with exemplary virtues – like a common protagonist in a common fairy story, in which the man was always unquestionably _good_ and _noble _and _respectable_, along with other values that society seemed to adore. Jimmy's parents had raised him with those qualities in mind, he had no doubt – but they had never stuck with him throughout his childhood. He had thought it was _vain _to be so kind and selfless all the time – perhaps even pathetic, the way these crowned heroes craved recognition so _much_ they could not go a day without imposing their gallantry. It was not as though Jimmy was _unkind _at heart – in fact, he thought he could be rather virtuous, if the situation called for it – and that perhaps was the difference; Jimmy could be _kind _if it was to his gain, but aside from that, he was as flawed as one could be when it came to the question of morality.

He was not ashamed of what he was – for it was his chosen way of life, but there had been times he wondered if he really was who he thought himself to be. It was disturbing, this uncertainty within him that seemed to grow with each passing month. It seemed to flare especially bright in the presence of Thomas Barrow – a man who Jimmy had felt every kind of emotion for – ranging from wonder at the poised manner in which Thomas held himself, to respect at the proficiency that Thomas so effortlessly possessed, to horror at the _sort _of man he had realized Thomas to be. And now – to a strange kind of admiration that surfaced on a regular basis in their short period of friendship.

At least he _hoped _there was still a friendship, after the debacle with Ivy and that damned kiss. It was thoughtless and irrational, like so many things he had done in the past, but _this – _this was especially infuriating because_nothing _good had come out of it. And the worst thing was – Jimmy had no clue how to even start to make amends.

So he began with Ivy, because that was where he had the least to lose.

"Will you just stop and talk to me?"

She was mixing a bowl of cake batter with such vigor that Jimmy made sure to stand beyond her reach, in case she got overcome by the urge to swing the wooden spoon at him. "Can't you see I'm busy? Just talk here." She took great care to avoid eye contact.

Jimmy glanced around them for any listening ears. Daisy and Mrs Patmore were on the far side of the kitchen, poring over the oven – it seemed to be malfunctioning or something – and there was a housemaid hovering nearby, who scurried away after Jimmy sent her warning glare.

He turned back to Ivy. "Look, you know I'm sorry about yesterday – so why don't you just stop acting like –" He waved his arm fruitlessly. " – like _this_."

"I'm not acting like anything."

He had a sudden itch to wrench the bowl out of her hands and tip it all over the counter. "Fine. As long as you know I didn't mean anything by it."

Jimmy began to walk away, but Ivy snapped at him: "Why do you got to be so cold about it? Don't you care about _anyone _but yourself?" There were tears in her eyes – and Jimmy suddenly wondered just whathe had done to warrant this. He didn't think it was _that_ bad of a kiss.

"What?" It was the only word that came to his mind.

Ivy stared at him with watery eyes, before she shook her head, as though in exasperation and – _pity_. "Just leave, alright? I ought to finish this."

Jimmy didn't need to be told twice. He made his escape before Mrs Patmore could holler at him for stirring up trouble in the kitchen. He stormed down the hallway, shoulder ramming into somebody. "Watch it," he snarled, before seeing it was Alfred.

"What's the matter with you?"

Perfect. "You want Ivy? Go get her. She's all yours – every bit of her." Jimmy grinned the nastiest grin he could muster, and watched with satisfaction as Alfred's face contorted into confusion – then anger.

"You bastard, what did you do to her?"

Jimmy rolled his eyes. It was disappointing, the way people sometimes assumed the worst of him – or perhaps it was just Alfred and his laughable insecurities. "Don't be so dramatic, Alfred. Can't I just change my mind out of the goodness of my heart?"

Alfred merely looked at him with disgust as he said: "You _have_ no heart."

-x-

A week had passed since The Kiss – Jimmy found it vaguely amusing that the term no longer applied to the _other _kiss – and the chance to clarify matters to Thomas still eluded him at every corner. There was always something that got in the way; sometimes Carson would bestow a sudden increase of workload on the under-butler, other times he was needed upstairs for the organization of an upcoming event. Jimmy had an ugly feeling that he was taking great measures to evade a confrontation, but he persisted, knowing the man could not avoid him forever.

Jimmy held the bottle by the neck and chugged down the remaining contents. With his tongue numbed by the constant infusion of wine, the liquid slithered down his throat in a bland, dreary flow. He leaned over and placed the empty flask by the foot of his bed, but it tipped over and rolled away. A groan rumbled deep within him, and his eyes fluttered close at the amplifying buzz that seemed to surround him.

_Thomas…he has to know…_

He climbed out of bed and reached for the exit, steps lumbering as the floor tilted slightly beneath his feet. Pulling his door open into a slit, he peeked out into the corridor. Most of the lights were still on, leaking into the passageway in fading gradients. Jimmy tiptoed towards Thomas's door, feeling a vague trepidation at what he had in mind to do. After several unanswered knocks, Jimmy pushed the door open and stepped into utter darkness. His heart beat in his throat in rapid throbs, incited by the liquor in his system. He waited for his eyes to adjust to the shift in lighting, before he realized – belatedly – that the room was empty.

For a moment, the possibility of Thomas wanting to avoid Jimmy so much he had _left _Downton for it hit Jimmy like a train wreck, but then he laughed the sheer absurdity; Thomas would never do anything so silly.

_Though it wouldn't be the first time he did something foolish, _a voice in his head whispered, which did nothing but spur on his stream of giggles. He pressed a hand to his mouth to suppress the guttural noise and exited Thomas's room, clicking the door shut behind him. By the time he managed to walk down the stairs without falling flat on his face, his laughter had subsided – thankfully. Ignoring the way his stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, he wandered to the servants' hall, nodded goodbye at the Bates couple who were just leaving the abbey, and proceeded to the kitchen yard.

The night engulfed him in a refreshing breeze, sending a pleasant tingle up his spine. The draft nipped along his skin, holding a slight bite to its nimble caresses – it _was _late autumn, after all – and there it was, a partial silhouette lounging in monochrome shadows. Jimmy smirked, a curious sense of triumph blossoming in his chest.

He approached Thomas, a small smile tugging on his lips. "There you are." The man's gaze shifted from the stars and fixed itself on Jimmy. "I'd been looking for you, Mr Barrow."

Thomas gave him a silent once-over, before he turned away and took a long drag of smoke. "You're drunk. And you're going to catch a cold wearing just that."

Jimmy glanced down at himself, taking in the short sleeves of his cotton shirt and loose pants. As if on cue, a shiver rippled through his body. "I'm not cold." It was true – he wasn't, not really. Perhaps he had the wine to thank. "But yes, I suppose I've had a bit to drink."

Light grey eyes regarded him warily. "Why are you out here?"

"I missed you." Where he had the courage to say it so blatantly, Jimmy would never know – but he didn't regret it. He was sick of lying, sick of dodging the oncoming bullets. This time, he wanted to face everything head-on; he didn't care if it was just his delirious mind talking or if he genuinely felt this way – he just wanted to be _true _tonight.

_Just tonight – and everything will be alright again tomorrow morning._

"…I see." Thomas held a hand out, which Jimmy stared at until he noticed the fresh cigarette dangling between two fingers. "It'll warm you up."

Jimmy shook his head. His gut churned to the idea of having yet another foreign substance in his system. "I think I'll survive." He settled beside Thomas, and a comfortable silence descended upon them. It was one of the things Jimmy treasured about Thomas's companionship; his presence had never demanded constant verbal communication – as though _silence _itself was an enlightenment. Such an experience was rare for Jimmy, for most of his acquaintances that had come and gone had always – at one point or another – felt the need fill the void with useless prattle until Jimmy wanted to snap at them. He had never felt this way with Thomas Barrow – and perhaps that was what frightened Jimmy the most, the fact that he had so many _firsts _with that man, as though they were supposed to be something more than just – "Mr Barrow, are we still friends?"

A heartbeat flitted by, and then – "Of course, Jimmy."

"Then why are you avoiding me?" With dawning horror, he realized his eyes were beginning to water. He blinked the moisture away with a subtle wave of panic, angling his face to the side in hopes to avoid notice.

Thomas tipped the ashes off his fag. "I thought you might want some time alone to – to be with Ivy." He cast him a side glance. "Was I wrong?"

Jimmy snorted. "If you're suggesting that I actually prefer her company over yours…" He grinned at Thomas. "Then you're a fool."

The man turned away, the lines of his features cast in murky shadows. "Believe me when I say no one knows that better than I do." The self-deprecating note in his voice sent a knife through Jimmy's chest.

"I didn't mean…" Jimmy scrunched up his face. "God, I think I'm going to retch."

Thomas flinched back. Jimmy had barely stumbled to the nearest bush, before the acidic contents rushed up his throat and into the open. He heaved for a long moment, hands braced on his knees as he grimaced at the putrid taste in his mouth. When he was free of the danger of being attacked by another fit, he straightened and wiped a hand across his mouth. A sigh of relief whistled past his lips; God forbid he should ever indulge in such a binge again.

Thomas came up behind him, standing a few paces away. "Better?"

Jimmy nodded, the gesture sending his head whirling. "That was horrid – sorry you had to see that."

A quiet laugh escaped Thomas. "I've seen worse." He paused, watching Jimmy with worried eyes. "We should go back inside – you really are going to be ill at this rate."

Jimmy started towards the door that led into the hall, eyes blinking in a fruitless attempt to clear his vision. The toe of his shoe caught on a raised step and he careened forwards. The ground rushed up to meet him in a quick swerve – then a hand curled around his forearm, keeping him upright.

"Easy, there." Thomas's grip remained on him as they stepped inside. Jimmy vaguely noticed that it was dark around them; the lights had been switched off for the night. "How much have you had to drink?" Thomas's breath fanned across the shell of Jimmy's ear as they headed up the stairs.

"Enough to last a bloody life time –" He stumbled again, and Thomas's hand tightened. "You're so good to me, Mr Barrow," Jimmy said, an arm slung across Thomas's shoulder. "But I don't understand – because I don't deserve it. And nobody else has been so kind to me, not sincerely anyhow." His mouth was running without his permission now, but there was no energy in him for any objection.

He felt Thomas's chuckle more than he heard it, the way his shoulders vibrated with the effort. "You really _are_ drunk."

They came to a stop, and it was a few seconds before Jimmy realized they were standing in front of his room. Thomas was waiting for _him_ to grant access. Jimmy had the urge to tell him he didn't need to be so frustratingly considerate all the time – but it was easier to just turn the knob himself. Thomas helped him to bed, and he slumped onto the mattress in one fell swoop and sighed in contentment; the futon had never seemed so comfortable until now.

"I'll get you some water. Don't fall asleep yet – or you'll regret it tomorrow morning." Thomas lingered by the exit. "Want some bread with it?"

He let out a long, deep yawn and lay on his side, half-lidded eyes gazing at the man. "Just water, I think." Thomas gave a nod of affirmation and disappeared, the door hanging ajar, leaving Jimmy alone with his musings – ones that he never would have touched in times of sobriety. Right now, though, everything seemed a distant dream – as if time had paused in its ceaseless ticking and granted him a special moment, saying _this is your chance to fix things – don't make a disaster out of it. _But it would be a futile endeavor, for Jimmy was aware he was half-delirious with God knew what in his mind, stirring up nonsense that had never crossed his sober thoughts.

_It isn't nonsense – and you know it. Perhaps your intoxicated self is just braver than you give him credit for._

Now there were _two _voices in his head. Who knew the effects of liquor could be quite so colourful?

"Here you go."

Jimmy's eyes fluttered open, noting the glass in Thomas's hand. "Thank you." He drew a modest sip, letting the cool liquid unfurl down his throat before he indulged in another. A dry, amused thought surfaced – "I thought serving footmen would be beneath your stature, Mr Barrow."

Thomas's mouth tugged up a little. "It'd be quite inconvenient if Carson found you frozen in the yard and went to _me _for an explanation, would it not?" Thomas took the empty glass from Jimmy's out-stretched hand. There was a few beats of silence before he said: "I ought to get back – it's late. I trust you'll live through the night?"

Jimmy's heart dampened at the notion of being left alone in the dark, with nothing for company but his traitorous thoughts. The request for Thomas to stay almost spilled free from his lips, but he held on; the humiliation of such a demand would be too great for Jimmy to survive it. "Alright…goodnight, then."

"Goodnight."

Jimmy stared up at the ceiling, listening to Thomas's receding footsteps as the man headed for the door. "Thomas?" His voice sounded murky and half-unintelligent to his own ears.

Silence, and then – "Yes?"

"Alfred says I'm heartless," Jimmy said quietly.

"Well, we both know better than to listen to _him_."

His eyes slid close as his mind began to drift away. A tiny part of him clung to the shred of consciousness like a lifeline, but he could feel its fingers slipping – slowly, but surely. "He's wrong, Thomas. I do have a heart," Jimmy mumbled into the darkness. "I think…I think it's just because I've already given it to you."

-x-

Ever since their strange conversation in the kitchen yard – that had proceeded to Jimmy's room after an unfortunate event – something had shifted in the foundation of their relationship. It was an intangible entity, so subtle that Jimmy was unsure if it was even _real_, but it was there – either purely in his imagination, or in concrete reality. Regardless, it was there – skittering just beyond his grasp, taunting him with its obscurity. It drove Jimmy to the edge like nothing else ever had.

There was a disconcerting feeling, somewhere, somehow – that led him to think that he had _said_ – or worse, _done _– in his intoxicated state that had failed to resurface in his memory, but there was no evidence to suggest anything had happened at all, aside from Jimmy's unexplainable restlessness at what was seemingly _normal_. Then again, whatever he had done – if he_had _done anything – must not have been notable at all, or surely Thomas would have already made _some _sort of comment, or at least a questioning look here and there.

Yet there was nothing.

"Who're you going to the ball with?" Alfred asked one day as they waited to serve the dishes, hovering by the doorway that led to the kitchen. There was a smugness in his voice that screamed _I'm going Ivy and you're not, ha-ha._

Jimmy rolled his eyes, trying to keep the annoyance at bay as he answered: "It's just a costume party that happens right where we live. There's no _going_anywhere with anyone."

"It's different though – everyone would be mingling. Not just them upstairs."

Jimmy didn't bother to grace that with a response. Of _course _Alfred would be thick enough to believe the servants would actually get the luxury of participating, instead of just having to prance around with trays in their hands in a slightly different attire; was there any sense in that ginger head of his? Let him believe what he wanted; people _did _say ignorance was bliss.

Later that evening, most people retreated to their bedrooms a little earlier than usual, in preparation for the following day in which Lord and Lady Welling-who would arrive. That left Jimmy, Thomas and Alfred the servants' hall, finishing up the last round of cards for the night.

Alfred stood from his chair, mouth stretching into a great yawn that reminded Jimmy of a giraffe. "I'm bushed. Big day tomorrow – guess I'll be going then." He bid them goodnight, casting a prolonged glance that jumped from Thomas to Jimmy. There was a look in his eyes that irked Jimmy to no end – something akin to curiosity and judgment.

Jimmy scowled. "Good_night_."

Just as Alfred had gone beyond earshot, with an amused smirk Thomas said: "Why do you two argue like children all the time?"

Jimmy's cheeks grew warm. "_He's _the child – I simply tolerate him." He slipped the deck back into the box, securing the lid. "Working alongside him these years has destroyed parts of my brain. Did you see the look he gave us? It was as if –" Jimmy stopped short and glared at the table before him.

"As if what?"

_As if he thought there was _something _here._

It wouldn't be the first time for Alfred to think so, but it _would _be the first time he was correct about it –

"Mr Barrow, would you agree that, sometimes, things would be better left as they are?" Jimmy asked.

It was a dilemma that had cost him sleepless nights, singing in his mind like an eternal chant. It was a tantalizing idea that teetered so close to the unmarked terrain that stretched past their established relationship – buried with mines and traps, waiting for him to take the wrong step. He had spent hours and hours in the darkness, contemplating the foreign concept from every angle, always trying to find that one thing that would convince him to back out of it for good. But it was hopeless – for every time he tried, he was drawn him further into the depths of uncertainty, tinged with a longing so intense that it bordered on frightening.

Thomas regarded him for a long moment, grey eyes as still as the surface of a lake. He reached for the ashtray and stubbed out his cigarette. "If everything's fine they way it is, then why do anything that might make it turn for the worse?" A small smile touched his lips and reached his eyes as he continued: "That's what most people would tell you anyhow. If you ask me, I'd say it's always better to know how things would turn out – instead of spending the rest of your life wondering what _might_ have happened."

-x-

As it was, Jimmy was proved to be correct about the 'servant-friendly' masquerade ball. With the arrival of visitors – with lords and ladies and hired musicians alike – it was nearly impossible to catch a moment of break; everybody was busy organizing the house for the guests, setting up the drawing room for the night's party, cooking up batches of dishes for the evening only to have them take a bite or two. As usual, the kitchen workers suffered the worst of it, with Mrs Patmore bustling around all day, pelting curses at flustered maids as they struggled to keep up with the schedule.

Fortunately, Jimmy and Alfred had managed through the day relatively unscathed; there was not too much to be done, except for rearranging the furniture to make room for the upcoming event, and providing refreshments on polished trays with plastic smiles and courteous bows. It had proceeded throughout the afternoon and crept into the evening – until Lady Rose announced the opening of the ball. By then, guests had changed into their evening costumes, put on their extravagant masks of anonymity.

Many of the servants had been too exhausted by the day's grueling demands, and had opted to rest downstairs instead of joining the festivity. There had been some with excitement too fiery to be quenched, and so they had joined the merriment after transforming into anonymous identities concealed behind their masks. It made for an interesting evening, with the working-class and aristocrats alike mingling in one room, not knowing who the other was unless they chose to reveal their anonymity. Jimmy had a feeling that it was part of Lady Rose's scheme as well, to have the two divides cross into each other's land – even if it was just for a few hours, and Jimmy was overcome with a sudden flare of respect – with a hint of affection – for the woman.

Jimmy had taken advantage of the theme and grabbed the chance to invent his character as he flittered from one social group to another; to some people he was a long-lost relative of a foreign, exotic royal family; to others he was the son of a wealthy businessman from a faraway land, seeking an adventure. He never lingered in one crowd for long, lest they realized he was a fraud. It appeared Thomas had the same notion, from the way he was skimming from one clique to another. Jimmy was fraught with the curiosity of the personas Thomas had chosen to take on for the evening. The man was engaged in a conversation with a small group of ladies, who seemed to latch onto every word Thomas was saying.

Their eyes met, and Thomas's lips stopped forming the words for a moment, then he smiled at Jimmy – a _true _smile, one that could only be fueled by genuine happiness. He didn't know what the source of Thomas's joy was – Jimmy sincerely hoped it to be him, but one could never tell with the man – but it was irrelevant, for it was enough to know that Thomas was happy.

Jimmy watched from a distance, feeling a beam spread on his lips at the graceful manner in which Thomas was charming everyone. He wondered – in an alternate universe, perhaps – at the possibility of Thomas being a spokesperson for some prestigious organization, or a successful lawyer that won nine out of ten cases, or a even a businessman – then he realized he didn't care_ what_ Thomas chose to be, as long as he remained _who _he was; the man that Jimmy had known for a few short years – years that had been so enriched they had felt like _multitudes _of lifetimes –

And that was when Jimmy understood – in a sheer moment of clarity – that he was _in love _the man.

He braced himself for the onslaught of dread that would no doubt follow this enlightenment, but it never came. The absence of his usual anxiety puzzled him, and he wondered if it was because of the veneer he was wearing; was he merely hiding behind the safety of this veil? Absently, Jimmy removed his headpiece, his gaze trailing back to Thomas, taking in the golden embroidery against the dark backdrop of Thomas's mask, settling on his eyes at last – the final destination. He waited for the apprehension to hit, yet still it eluded him – and he let out a breath of relief; it seemed foolish to gain reassurance from such an illogical explanation – but it made no matter, for it proved to himself that Jimmy's love for him was real, and not some whimsical sentiment.

He embraced it as the first sign of acceptance. It would be the first of many, he was sure – but it was a start in the right path – and for now, that was enough; if the future was a light in the distance, with a trail that led through an uncharted territory, then Jimmy would be the moth that flew towards the glow, uncertain – yet full of hope, but ultimately, _enchanted._


End file.
